


i'll find myself anew

by mikaylamazing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexuality, Character Study, F/M, High School, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, Teen Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaylamazing/pseuds/mikaylamazing
Summary: Snapshots of Dean Winchester learning who he is and what it means to love someoneaka I have a million headcanons really needed a "dean coming to terms with his bisexuality" character study fic so I wrote one
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s), Lee Webb/Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Robin (Supernatural: Bad Boys)/Dean Winchester
Comments: 38
Kudos: 254





	i'll find myself anew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boncasphan (starship_destiel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starship_destiel/gifts).



> this took me so long to write i am so tired  
> dedicated to gabs, the real #1 bi!dean warrior
> 
> title taken from lyrics in growing up - fall out boy

In the spring of 1994, someone calls Dean gay for the first time. 

“I still don’t understand why I _have_ to go to school. It would be way easier to just get my GED. It’s not like a high school diploma is gonna come in handy when we’re killing werewolves,” Dean mumbled, griping like a whiny teenager, which isn’t something he’s prone to doing, but his normal routine of ‘following orders’ hadn’t worked in a long while. He had done nothing but follow through with absolutely everything his father had asked of him for the past eleven years of his life, and yet that still didn’t seem to be enough once he had turned 13, effectively becoming an “adult”. Tensions had only continued to rise. 

So Dean had taken to mouthing off every once in a while, only when he knew he could get away with it, though he had been wrong about that a few regretful times. For a second, his dad looked straight at him, and he couldn’t even make a guess as to what went through his mind in that handful of seconds. He sighed. 

“ _I said_ , you’re going to school. We draw less attention that way and it’ll only be for a couple of days.” He hadn’t looked at Dean when he said this, sounding defeated and more than a little tired so Dean gave up the act, not even bothering to respond with an exasperated “fine.”

So he and Sam once again went their separate ways for the day, both expected to gather up local information but without drawing an undue amount of attention to themselves. ‘Simple,’ Dean had thought, nearly rolling his eyes. Dean didn’t talk much. He’d mostly ask his teachers questions under the guise of being new in town, keeping a low profile with fellow students, usually not exchanging a single word with any of them. They were never around these places for longer than a week, and he’d been almost certain that they already had the case in the bag before they’d even touched down in Austin. 

So when they reached day seven, and eventually eight and nine, with even less leads than what they started with, Dean had started to get a little nervous. He’d already failed multiple quizzes, and could tell one of his teachers was just about ready to have a ‘serious talk’ with him. But he really thought they’d have been out of there in a matter of days (and to this day, he still thinks he’s better off not knowing what an exponential function is). Before Mrs. Hampton could stop him at the end of class and tell him how concerned she was about his failing grade - and maybe threaten to call his dad - Dean knew what he needed to do.

He approached her before class that day, a whole ten minutes before the first bell was supposed to ring. She had been surprised at his proactive approach, scrambling to figure out a solution for him that didn’t involve disturbing his ‘very busy father’. She decided on tutoring as the most effective way to get him back on track with the rest of the class, and though he thought it would be one of the most useless things he’d ever experience, he agreed out of fear for what his dad might do if he found out Dean was making a name for himself.

Sitting in the library with his tutor was a lot different than just saying hi and shaking his hand. He found that despite looking and sounding like a mousy little math nerd from straight out of a teen movie (not that Dean watched those), Isaac’s tone turned on a dime the moment Dean started messing around instead of finding f(x). 

“Can you please just try.” It’s said in a deadpan, Isaac’s face still buried in the book he was reading, his eyes never leaving the page to spare even the tiniest glance at Dean. Maybe he found it just a little rude.

“Between you and me, I don’t need a tutor,” Dean had said, leaning back in his chair and seeing no need to elaborate. After all, he’s not sure he could have in a way that didn’t completely blow their cover. 

“You failed the very first quiz. Like, zero points, failed,” Isaac said, turning a page, and once again, not looking at Dean. Dean  _ had  _ rolled his eyes at that, and as if Isaac could somehow sense the childish action, he closed his book with so much force it echoed throughout the silence of the library. 

“Fine. If you don’t want to work on those problems move on to the next ones. They’re easier in my opinion.”

“Somehow I don’t think that means much coming from you,” Dean whispered, still looking around the library self-consciously to see if anyone was staring at them. Dean agreed, if only to get out of there as fast as possible, preferably before his dad realized he’d been gone for a little too long. 

In all honesty, Dean really didn’t get this stuff. They had never stayed in one place long enough for him to go through an entire lesson until now, and it showed. So, he eventually gave in and asked Isaac for help; genuine, specific questions that he knew would have definitive answers. It was literally the only good thing about math. 

But the more Isaac talked, the less Dean was able to pay attention. As Isaac went on and on about reciprocals and what they are and how they work, Dean was contemplating the cadence of his voice, and how drastically it changed from being annoyed at Dean to being obviously excited and passionate about… math. Dean couldn’t say he understood it, but he had definitely felt the same way when thinking about cars and wrestling, so it wasn’t completely unbelievable, even if it was pretty weird. Dean watched the way Isaac’s face contorted, the way his glasses continually slid down his nose, his eyebrows lifting for emphasis and eventually scrunching together when he asked Dean for the third time:

“So, do you think you’ll be able to do these kinds of problems on your own? They’re on tonight’s homework, just so you know.”

Dean nodded, absentminded, only able to concentrate on the fact that all the saliva in his mouth had dried up. He awkwardly shook Isaac’s hand like they had completed a business deal rather than a tutoring session, holding on for just a moment too long.

When he got back to the motel, he chucked his bag into the corner of the room and dove for the bed, squeezing one of the pillows so tight against his torso that he thought he might strain something.

“Are you okay?” Sam had asked, nervous trepidation making its way into his voice. Dean quickly released his hold, shoving the pillow under his head.

“Yeah… yeah, it was just a long day. I’m tired.” But Dean stayed up until 2 am, excited at the prospect of having a friend for the first time ever.

He knew he’d be pushing his luck with the whole ‘friend’ thing. They’d already been in Austin for almost three weeks. It was almost certain they’d end up leaving the second he got to know someone, and Isaac probably didn’t even  _ want  _ to be friends with an idiot like him, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to at least try. But trying, he learned almost instantly, was not cool, especially not to upperclassmen who were taller than him.

Dean wasn’t small or weak by any stretch of the imagination - you couldn’t really afford to be in their line of work - so he was more than a little shocked to find himself being shoved into a bank of lockers. His fight or flight instincts had kicked in but not before he was grabbed by the back of his shirt, suddenly surrounded by multiple boys.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, faggot,” one of them said with a sneer. Dean’s first instinct - to say he was watching where he was going and was generally out of the way - but it’s like every thought is severed once he processes the word. ‘ _ Why would they say that?’  _ ran on warp speed through his head for the four seconds prior to being shaken and shoved again.

“Hey. We’re talking to you. You going to see your little faggot boyfriend?” 

Dean had been headed down the hall for his second tutoring session, but he wasn’t sure what that had to do with the meathead confrontation going on.

“What?” It was all he could get out, still feeling rattled, the sound of his body hitting metal still ringing in his ears.

“Isaac Bennett. He’s a total flamer, and word is that you two are library buddies now. Y’all make out in the stacks, you fucking queers?” The final slam of his head into the lockers was finally enough to get Dean’s brain functioning again.

“No, he’s just my tutor. It wasn’t even my idea, I’m just failing math. I don’t even know the guy,” Dean spat out. He felt bad almost immediately, guilty for succumbing to some guys he’d never even seen before, letting them talk that way about someone he’d wanted to befriend. But they seemed to take his word, for reasons Dean still doesn’t know, releasing him with a warning.

“Stay away from Bennett. Or you’ll end up like him.”

Dean couldn’t be sure what they meant by that. 

Despite being threatened, Dean still found himself walking to the empty classroom Isaac had snagged, entering and quickly closing the door behind him.

“Hope you’re ready for factoring because-”

“Are you queer?” They both stood stock-still, two feet between them, yet Dean couldn’t hear the sound of Isaac breathing. 

“If you’re here to hurt me, just know that Mrs. Hampton knows you’re here with me,” Isaac managed to squeak. Dean shot forward at that.

“No! No, I just wanted to- These guys are saying so much shit about you, and I just wanted you to know.” 

“Trust me, I know,” Isaac scoffed, fiddling with his calculator that he’d placed on the desk, pressing the buttons in a pattern Dean couldn’t decode. Dean paused at that, considering where to go next, but he couldn’t beat the tidal wave of thoughts that came cascading out of his mouth.

“But they’re not telling the truth, right? They’re lying to make you look bad, not that I think  _ it’s  _ bad or anything like that, like if you  _ were _ that would be fine, and I wouldn’t have a problem with it at all, but these guys- if they have the wrong idea we should…” Dean never completed that thought. Isaac had been staring at him with sad, nervous eyes and Dean just knew.

“Dean-” It was said placatingly, like Dean was going to explode even though he had  _ just  _ said it was alright.

Dean’s lips collided with Isaac’s, crushed by the awkward speed of Dean’s movement. It was a continuous press, spurred on by Dean’s impulsivity and ending as soon as Dean’s brain had processed what he’d done. 

“Uh-”

“Sorry, I have to go,” Dean said, hastily running out of the room, then the building, then the city, then the state, still feeling like his lips were made of ice. That evening, Dean was greeted by his dad telling him to hurry up and pack his shit.

“We’re leaving tonight. Be quick if you want to stop for something to eat.”

And just like that, Dean never saw Isaac again, spending the nights of the following months wondering if he felt anything when Dean just disappeared.

When Facebook started to gain momentum, Dean didn’t find himself creating an account of his own, but he was tempted by that search bar. Twelve years later, he still thought about Isaac Bennett from time to time and when his profile loaded, Dean saw that he’d married some guy. Lorenzo Marin. Niagara Falls. 

Dean’s always wanted to go.

\---

For a while, Dean thought he could possibly be gay. He didn’t want to be, but the more he thought about it, the more resigned he felt. He thought about all the men on TV he had been drawn to; the way he would fall in love with wrestlers and cowboy actors alike. But he had always justified those interests with some excuse or another, never truly feeling strange about any of it until he entered middle school and the focus of most boys his age quickly turned to girls. He always supposed that he had never stayed in one place for long enough to be interested in any particular girl, but then Isaac happened and suddenly he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that there still hadn’t been a girl. 

He’d lie flat on his back at night, unable to fall asleep, his eyes aimlessly following the ridges of the popcorn ceiling. _Those_ words would loop in his brain until he’d finally drift off due to sheer exhaustion. And even though he’d never said _those_ words aloud to anyone, he had an overwhelming fear that one day they might just spill out of his mouth, around Sam or his dad or even just himself. He had tried whispering it, looking into his eyes reflected in the bathroom mirror, marred by water spots and scratches. He let the sink run, hoping the sound of rushing water would drown out his words, but the words never came, stuck in his throat, forcing out tears that clung to his eyelashes. 

He wiped at his eyes, hoping to catch them before his face went red; if it was obvious he’d been crying he’d never hear the end of it from Sam. Sometimes he hated how much his brother cared. Dean knew that made him an asshole, but the more Sam cared, the more Dean felt compelled to tell him about how he’d kissed a boy a couple months prior. He knew Sam would ask questions and Dean could only add to the list. He didn’t have any answers and it was infuriating. How was it possible to know so little about yourself?

And yet, despite ‘not knowing’ anything about his own alleged attraction to men, Dean knew he had a shirtless Gunner Lawless centerfold, tucked away between the pages of an old notebook that he’d kept for the express purpose of hiding the magazine pages. And it wasn’t even a particularly suggestive image, but Dean felt it was a confession, and more than that, something to be ashamed of. Why else would he keep it hidden? Maybe he really did know all along. 

Both Sam and their dad had gone out for food, leaving Dean to keep watch of their room in case any suspicious characters decided to loiter outside or knock on the door, a loaded pistol sitting beside his bed. So he’d taken the notebook out of his bag, flipped through the pages until the glossy, slightly crumpled centerfold laid flat on his lap, still folded in half. He’d traced his finger over the features of Gunner’s face, afraid to look beyond his neck. Scared it would make it _permanent_ , even though he was already 99% sure it was hopeless. He liked looking at men like Gunner and he liked looking at Isaac, no matter how much he had tried to deny it. It simultaneously made him want to tear the poster to shreds and stare at it forever.

In the middle of his conflicting thoughts, the door to the room rattled, Dean slapping the notebook shut and shoving it under his pillow as fast as possible, not even reaching for the gun. His dad would be disappointed but that wouldn’t be anything new.

However, when the door swung open, it was only Sam, their father nowhere in sight. Dean hadn’t even had to ask before Sam said “Dad might have a new lead so he just dropped me off,” throwing a bag of food in Dean’s direction and keeping one for himself. As Dean struggled to catch the bag, he heard the notebook slide out from under the pillow and watched as the pages perfectly unfurled to reveal Gunner’s smolder once more. 

Although Sam’s eyes had been drawn to the floor for a second, he quickly became distracted by the giant soda cup he was taking out of a cardboard tray. He didn’t make any comments, and in an attempt to remain unsuspicious, Dean casually picked up the book, tucking it into his bag in between layers of clothes. And even though Sam hadn’t asked any questions - not even about where Dean had gotten the poster - Dean almost wished he had. Then he’d have an excuse to talk about his _situation_ naturally. Not that it would help Dean’s thundering heartbeat at that point.

But when he looked at his little brother, something in him felt like he needed to disclose this information, even if he wasn’t sure how to say it all. He sat there for what must have been an hour, poring over his potential word choice, his food untouched and cold as he tried to come up with the least confusing way to explain possible same-sex attraction to an eleven-year-old. But just as he opened his mouth to say something along the lines of “I think I might like boys,” his father crashed through the door, a loud cracking sound emanating from the place where it hit the wall. 

Dean had assumed if there was ever a sign that he was about to make a huge mistake, that was it. 

Every once in a while, he felt the urge to say something arise and burn in the middle of his chest, swelling just to the point of bursting. But when Sam, just a couple months later, spent thanksgiving with a girl - a girl who liked him, and who he probably liked back - the desire to be honest fled from his body. And though the thoughts still plagued his thoughts and dreams, he remained silent. 

\---

Dean desperately wished that his kiss with Robin fixed everything. If anything, it just scrambled his brain a little more. 

He’d seen the guitar and her hair that fell over her shoulder and down her back. But then she’d turned towards Dean and he didn’t know what to think. It was completely lame, and Dean knew it, but it was like his mind was wiped clean, and every time he opened up to speak it was like the connection between his brain and his mouth had been severed. But in the end, none of that had mattered because Robin liked him anyway. And Dean liked her.

At first, he worried that he was just trying really hard to like her, like he was playing the male lead in a teen movie, closely following a script so as to convey a specific message. Specific emotions. But it was natural and every time she spoke Dean found himself leaning just a little closer to listen. 

“Have you kissed many girls?” The question was innocuous enough, teasing even at the obvious fact that Dean was inexperienced. There was no way for Robin to know the specific nerve that question set alight; the fact that the word ‘girls’ is what nearly caused him to choke. He stumbled over his response, but he figured that must have been a typical reaction for a boy of his age because she smiled and kissed him again.

Dean was shocked. And definitely confused. After all, he had spent the last few months questioning whether or not he’d ever give girls a second thought, and then all of a sudden he’d kissed one twice. The ideas didn’t connect, but eventually, he figured he didn’t need to keep both ideas in his brain. He’d obviously liked Robin, and had considered her a friend. In general, his relationship with Robin was the longest he had ever had with someone outside of his family up to that point. So it felt special, and significant, and all the other things it was supposed to feel like. 

It felt normal, and it had been a really long time since Dean had felt anything resembling normal. And yet, every once in a while, the thoughts would return, nagging and prodding as he tried to sleep, tossing and turning in the twin size bed. 

It kind of felt like he was lying. He hadn’t outright lied - she would have to ask some pretty leading questions for that to happen - but he hadn’t been completely honest either. He didn’t know how to be. He could explain the story of the time he had impulsively kissed a boy he’d known for a week, but it would lead to questions, he knew it would. And for all Dean knew, Isaac was a fluke; a misunderstanding; a crossed wire. He liked Robin - he really liked her - so how could it make sense to have liked Isaac? Besides, if he told Robin about Isaac what if she thought he didn’t like her? What if she thought he was gross?

He’d wanted to go to the dance with her and didn’t want to risk upsetting her over something trivial. It didn’t matter. So he’d kept his mouth shut, and just enjoyed being in her company, plagued by his own memories when he wasn’t. 

When he had looked out of the window and saw the impala running, Sam sitting in the backseat, and his father honking impatiently, Dean felt a piece of himself being ripped out, to be left in Sonny’s house forever. He thought it immediately, and knew how dramatic he sounded (even if it was only in his thoughts; always his thoughts) but he didn’t care. A single tear rolled down his cheek. And without a second thought he’d wiped it away and went downstairs, barraged by his dad’s harsh words and harsher tone.

Like Isaac, Robin was left without so much as a goodbye. Definitely no explanation. Never an explanation. 

\---

“That was…” Dean had nearly chewed a jagged hole through his lip that night, but never came closer than when he was waiting for Lisa to finish that sentence. He was sweaty and out of breath, with not much to compare the experience to, but also nothing to complain about. But Lisa…

“Good?” Dean supplied, suddenly feeling very tense despite feeling the most relaxed he’d ever been only moments earlier. 

“I was going to say amazing, but if it was _just_ good-”

“No! No, I just didn’t- I don’t want to assume-”

“Calm down. I’m just messing with you.” Dean felt his lungs expand at the sight of Lisa’s smile. She had laughed like they had already known each other for years; simply lying together in bed was probably the most intimate thing Dean had ever experienced, not that he’d say that out loud or even use the word ‘intimate’. But still, it was nice, not only to be with someone who genuinely seemed to enjoy his company, but to not have to think about Sam and his dad. But the second they entered his brain, he shut his eyes and cursed himself.

“What are you thinking about?” Lisa asked, her breath falling on his bare shoulder. He’d inhaled, trying to come up with something that sounded semi-normal before giving up with a sigh.

“How much I love being away from my family for once. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, I just…” he started, but trailed off, quickly realizing he wasn’t quite sure what it was about them that felt suffocating. But Lisa didn’t rush forward or try to fill in the blank for him and in a matter of seconds it all clicked together on its own.

“I feel like I can’t really be myself around them, you know?” Dean knew it was cliché the moment he thought it, but it felt like a giant weight had been lifted off of him, one he didn’t even know was there to begin with. Lisa moved in closer, her arm curling around Dean’s waist, her head resting on his chest, rising and falling with the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

“I get it, my family’s the same way. It’s hard trying to please people who seem to oppose everything you do. It’s why I’m on my own,” she announced, making a broad gesture to her studio apartment. It was small but comfortable, and certainly more than Dean had ever had to himself. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little jealous of her.

“Yeah…” he responded, but he had suddenly felt far away from Lisa and the rest of the world. He’d said that he hated being around his family because he couldn’t be himself, but he couldn’t justify being upset with them when he’s the one unwilling to come forward. He couldn’t even be truthful with this complete stranger.

“So what is it?” Lisa’s voice had cut through his inner monologue like a knife, and though he had heard every word in startling clarity, his own muddled thoughts gave him no help when it came to context. He must have looked as confused as he felt because she shifted around a bit, then looked right at him. It made it a lot harder to get lost in his own thoughts. 

“What’s the big argument between you and your family?”

It was a loaded question, but he figures it’s a loaded question for anyone it’s asked of. He gave what he never imagined could be the easier of two answers.

“I don’t wanna be like my dad,” he’d sighed, plowing on when he’d realized he’d probably never get another opportunity to talk to someone about this.

“He just- He’s always told me what to do, my whole life. I’ve just listened to him, hardly ever argued or disagreed. Guess I’m just wondering when I’m finally gonna start doing things for myself instead of waiting for his orders.”

Dean sighed so hard he’d nearly choked on it, but it was there now; out in the open. Only Lisa’s face had this expression that conveyed something like ‘that’s it?’ but it’s not like he could go into the details on a first - date? That’s not what it was.

“My brother is gonna get out. ‘Cause he’s the smart one; always has been. And I’ll be stuck with my crazy dad until he keels over. Every once in a while, I look at him and wish it were me. Dad constantly fights with him, but that’s gotta make it easier to leave.”

“Why can’t it be both of you?”

“What?”

“Well, you said he was getting out. That implies ‘getting out’ is a possibility. So why not both of you. From what you’ve said, it sounds like you’re both pretty miserable.” Dean had closed his eyes and thought about a world where that could happen. One where Sam would leave for some big-name school and Dean would put his foot down and say, ‘me too’. He’d sigh longingly at the idea for nights to come, and sadly when Sam finally left, feeling as though his opportunity had officially come and gone.

“I am. We are. But I could never leave my dad like that. He might be crazy, but he’s still my dad, you know?... He wouldn’t last a month without me. He’d just be a newspaper headline or two-sentence obituary waiting to happen.”

“Dark.”

“Yeah, sorry-”

“No, no, don’t be. I get it. Some things aren’t worth the guilt. Maybe there can be a compromise.”

“I’ll work on it.” He’d had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but Lisa kind of made him feel like he could, if for just a brief moment. Dean thought it was kind of pathetic.

Then she smiled, leaned over again, kissing his shoulder then his neck, and as she hovered over his face, he’d felt it bubbling up in his chest. That feeling he hadn’t had in a while, and it didn’t make sense right then but still, he’d said it, out loud, for the first and only time.

“I think I like guys.” Lisa froze, but only for a second, before giving a very level “oh”.

“No, it’s not like that, I- I think- I  _ know  _ I like you too. I don’t get how it works but I just thought…” Lisa had looked at him with entirely too much patience, blinking once, twice, again waiting for  _ him  _ to continue explaining when really, she probably should’ve kicked him out of bed and her apartment.

“I don’t know why I felt like I should tell you. I’ve never told anyone before. I’ve never even said it out loud before. But I was saying a lot of things I usually never say, and you were being really nice, like really nice. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“Dean, you don’t need to apologize for how you feel. You’re not hurting anyone.”

Logically, Dean knew that was true. He had thought about it all for a few years at that point, and he wasn’t homophobic, but it just felt so different when he thought about himself in those terms. He’d spent a long while simultaneously thinking he was gay and trying vehemently to convince himself that he wasn’t, only for all of that to get thrown aside the second he got to know a nice girl. And even though he had never told anybody about any of it, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d been lying by omission; like maybe he was hurting people – especially his family – by being the way he is.

“But doesn’t it feel… weird now? Like, I don’t know… different?” Lisa had rolled her eyes at that, and even though he hadn’t known her for longer than a day, he could tell it was done with a fondness. He’d admired her ability to open up so easily to him; he’d had the sneaking suspicion that it would never get easier for him.

“It doesn’t feel different… because nothing has changed. You’re the same person you were ten minutes ago, and you’re the same person you were ten hours ago.”

“But isn’t it-“

“Dean, trust me when I say you’re way more normal than you think and that you’re in good company.”

He wanted to protest, to complain and ask how she could possibly know that he’s  _ normal _ (she didn’t even know that he hunted monsters on a near-daily basis). But as if she could hear his thoughts, again, she looked him in the eyes. Dean had never experienced so much eye contact in such a short period of time.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m really tired. We can talk about this more in the morning if you want?”

He knew she was giving him an out, a chance to not have a complete meltdown, but still, he silently answered with a nod of his head, Lisa moving to turn off the bedside lamp and then returning her arm to its place around Dean’s waist. It was warm, and comforting, and all of the things he’d wished he could experience more often, but there was a pit growing inside of him; a parasite moving to take all the feeling out of his limbs, leaving them feeling like lead weights.

In the morning, Dean avoided any and all conversation about what they had discussed the night before. And when he said he had to leave, she had understood. He almost wished that she hadn’t. He wished she had asked him to stay.

\---

When Sam went to college it sent Dean into a tailspin. Nothing too dramatic, and definitely not anything his dad would notice or care about - not that it was difficult to get things past John Winchester - but just enough to make Dean feel like he was losing his mind, piece by piece. And it only got worse as time progressed.

He’d head out to a new bar every night, completely aware of the fact that he was quickly becoming a caricature of his own father; an unlikable alcoholic, only worse because Dean was still _so young_ and had _so much to live for_. Fellow hunters would nod at him and his state of disarray, never asking questions about him, but always ready to ask about Sam and how he’s doing. In California. At Stanford.

He could hardly stand it. And of course he’d missed Sam, but he’d have sooner dropped dead than admit that he missed his much more successful baby brother.

So he’d tell them that everything was fine, and that Sam was having a good time (and staying safe) despite the fact that their phone calls had become few and far between. He knew Sam wanted to get away from hunting and their lives in general, but Dean never stopped to think about how that might affect their interactions.

Without a little brother to look after and a father who was MIA more often than not, Dean found himself drifting between being extremely motivated and feeling absolutely useless. Every once in a while, another hunter would call him for help with a case, and he’d agree before they’d even finish giving details. He’d feel the adrenaline pump throughout his body as he cut the heads off of vampires, watching their blood spatter into abstract shapes, like his own Rorschach tests that told him nothing.

But when the hunt was said and done, he’d return to an empty motel room, unoccupied only for a few hours but seemingly covered in a film of dust. Then he’d pack up and leave for the next one; another room in another state that’s simultaneously lived-in and sterile; haunted and lifeless.

And when he left there wasn’t always a job for him at the new location. Sometimes he’d show up just in time for another hunter to say “Thanks, but I handled it.” Being unneeded was a new feeling to Dean, one he hadn’t experienced since he was four years old, so to say that he dealt with it would be a vast overstatement.

He went to the bars, drank a little (then a lot), and would more than likely strike-out with a woman entirely out of his league, and sometimes it wouldn’t even sting. Sometimes he just wanted to go through the motions and feel something, even if it was rejection.

If he was being honest, he didn’t feel much different when it actually worked out. The times where his still-boyish charm outshined his alcohol dependency and self-loathing were not as frequent, but the sensation of success would surge through him, and if he couldn’t remember the girl’s name at the end of the night, he didn’t particularly care. Neither of them was doing it to establish some otherworldly bond; they both used each other, and Dean was okay with that because then at least he was good for something.

He would laugh, a dry, bitter sound, at that line of thought, wondering just when he had gotten so pathetic; when he had started thinking of ways to ‘fill the void’. And yet, despite this, when he’d reunite with his father after a couple days, he’d get a pat on the back, like what he was doing was admirable in any way. It made him feel sick.

And when Sam told him about his girlfriend, Jessica – how Sam’s pretty sure she’s the one – he’d felt even sicker.

\---

Lee was a good friend, not only because he was a cool guy who was fun to talk to, but because he was the first friend Dean could talk to about _everything._ They could talk about women, and hating life, and most importantly, killing werewolves. He’s one of the first hunters Dean met who was around his age, and when they’d first gotten to know each other, Dean had gone on and on for ages, never having spoken so much in his life, but overwhelmed by the thought of getting to talk to a hunter who wasn’t old enough to parent him.

Lee had teased him, asking if he was always so talkative, and Dean had stuttered an incoherent response until Lee assured him that he was just messing with him.

So, they talked about (almost) everything, including how annoying Dean’s dad was for not letting them join him on the werewolf killing spree.

“He’s treating us like fucking kids, man. We’re adults and we should be out there. I don’t even know why I’m letting him decide what _I_ get to do. He ain’t my dad,” Lee had said, standing up from the motel bed like he was preparing to march out. Dean knew he wouldn’t.

“Dude, can you chill for a second? He’s been doing this for a little longer than you have. I wanna get out just as much as you do but until he comes back or gives us the signal, we stay here. We don’t need to put all of our asses on the line right now. We might have to call in for backup.”

“Well why didn’t we just do that from the beginning?”

“When we don’t know what we’re up against? We could be wasting everyone’s time.”

Lee sighed at that, overly exasperated and extremely close to getting on Dean’s last nerve. Dean liked being around Lee; he thought Lee was a cool guy, but fuck if he wasn’t irritating sometimes. He was kind of new to the whole hunting thing and was a lot less cautious than he needed to be most of the time. If Dean were an honest man, he would’ve said it made him nervous.

“You’re getting tense and worked up for no reason. If you want to be helpful, relax until it’s time to move. You need to be focused,” Dean said leaning forward on the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the dirty, worn-out carpet, and trying very hard not to look like he was clutching his head in agony. Lee sat down once again, right beside Dean despite his closed off body language.

“But it’s boring just sitting here. You know he’s gonna need our help, he always does.”

“Then watch TV until he _says_ he needs our help. Or read a book. Or do anything.”

“I can’t believe Dean Winchester is telling _me_ to read.”

“I read sometimes.”

“Yeah, what? The backs of cereal boxes and comic books?”

“I personally think that comic books have a lot to say about the way the world works,” Dean mumbled, feeling his ears begin to burn, embarrassed and annoyed like a kid getting bullied in school. He supposed he did get to skip that experience for the most part.

“You’re pretty weird, you know that?” Lee asked, looking right at Dean in a way he never quite learned how to describe. Words were never his strong suit, and it only seemed to get worse with age.

“No I’m not.” Dean had said it with conviction; one of the only things he wanted to make clear in his life. That he wasn’t _weird_ or _different_ or any other thing that set him apart from the crowd. He didn’t want to be an individual because that was so often what made someone a target. He’d had his fair share of that in their line of work and didn’t need to stand out any more than that.

“You are, but that’s what I like about you.”

Lee’s words were said with so much sincerity, Dean felt like he’d just taken a really sharp turn on a treacherous winding road, the kind that makes you lose your breath for a second. They were still sitting there, at the edge of the bed, and Dean felt like they’d just looked at each other for hours before Lee closed his eyes and leaned forward.

Their lips touched awkwardly; zero finesse and yet Dean felt that familiar swoop in the pit of his stomach as his eyes fluttered closed. Lee had begun to pull away, but before he could get far, Dean placed a hand on the back of his neck – gentler than anything he’d ever done, as if he were afraid of scaring Lee away – and pulled him in again.

They kissed tentatively until Lee put his hands on Dean’s shoulders, gentle like Dean’s but also firm, guiding Dean’s body down until his back touched the top sheet of the bed.

The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable, and the room smelled like stale cigarette smoke, but Dean couldn’t process any of that with Lee’s tongue in his mouth, his body pinning Dean down in a way he’d never been before.

There was a calm urgency to their motions, Lee becoming a little more aggressive as Dean became more pliant under his touch. Lee’s hand had been making its way up the front of Dean’s shirt when a familiar car horn blared from right outside the room window.

The sound had frightened both of them, Lee accidentally biting down on Dean’s lower lip in shock, eliciting a small, subdued “ow”.

“Sorry about that,” Lee breathed, scrambling to stand and straighten out his own clothes.

“S’okay,” Dean said, even though he couldn’t be 100% sure about what Lee was apologizing for.

There was another impatient honk, followed by two more in quick succession that got both of them moving, grabbing their bags and heading for the door. Before he opensit, Lee stops, not turning around, but still speaking to Dean.

“We never talk about this again, deal?” Lee asked, but it had sounded more like a command. Dean swallowed and then nodded before he realized Lee still wasn’t looking at him.

“Yeah.”

And so they never did.

\---

Dean doesn’t think it’s going to work. Or maybe he should say he doesn’t think anything useful will come of their little purgatory excursion. He and Cas are still on ‘talking out of necessity’ terms, still arguing more often than not. But the arguments aren’t big and booming like Dean wants them to be. He would feel a million times better if Cas would just yell at him already; tell him he’s a terrible, selfish person who doesn’t deserve to have people who care about him. It wouldn’t be a lie, and yet it also wouldn’t help either of them feel any better. The thing about Cas is that he’s always been smarter than Dean.

Maybe Cas didn’t always get jokes and social cues, but he knew when a situation was wearing thin, and more importantly he knew how to stop. He knew when certain limits had been reached while Dean would just keep going, piling on insult after insult, burden after burden, until someone finally explodes – usually him. 

Even now, he knows he’s wrong. He knows that he can’t just expect Cas to move on and forgive him when he’s done nothing worthy of being forgiven. Dean can’t help the way he feels, but he sure as hell can help the way he treats people around him, starting with Cas. He just doesn’t know where to start, and he momentarily wonders if anyone in his position would. He needs to be better, to think before he lashes out, and yet there’s something inside of him that burns and lingers, subconsciously looking for every excuse to push people away.

It’s not an excuse, and he rolls his eyes at the thought, wondering when he’s ever been able to truly push Cas away – he’s still here right now, after all. In the weeks when Cas was gone, not responding to any texts, not even ones asking if he was okay, Dean started to think that maybe he finally fucked up for good, but here he is, helping them once again because he’s not a self-centered dick.

When they first met, it had been so hard for Dean to trust Cas, and for Cas to trust Dean, and yet they had, and they still did even when the most powerful beings said they shouldn’t. They couldn’t be broken down by unstoppable forces, couldn’t be unraveled by God, only by themselves and each other.

It was infuriating to think about.

They each had their moments in the decade plus of knowing the other: betrayal, and secrets, and broken promises - promised to be mended, only to be broken once again. They were fragile after years of the back and forth, but at least they took turns.

But no matter what Cas had done, no matter who he had sold them out to, or what he had done against their wishes, Dean’s own words were like a poison thorn in his side. Nothing seemed as bad as what he said. The harsh words still echo in his muddled, sleep-deprived brain.

It might be the worst thing he’s ever done, and that’s saying something for the man who literally started the apocalypse once.

But he can’t get himself to do anything about it.

He selfishly wishes that they could just get past this part of the argument because he doesn’t have any ideas on how to get Cas to understand how truly sorry he is. How do you let someone know they’re important to you when you’ve done nothing to show it for years?

Dean doesn’t have the brain power to think up solutions for him and Cas, and he certainly doesn’t have any alternative methods to taking down Chuck if this stupid flower thing doesn’t pan out. Because the world is ending and all Dean can think about is sitting across from Cas in a random little run-down diner; some place out of town, where nobody knows them and the menus haven’t been updated in over 20 years. Something consistent, unlike them.

He thinks about looking up at Cas, at his lips, sticky with saccharine pancake syrup. If he could lean across the table then maybe…

It’s a stupid thing to be thinking about in their current end-of-the-world situation, and Dean’s never been good at prioritizing, made obvious by the fact that he wants nothing more than to just crawl into Cas’s bed with him – even though it’s too small, and way less comfortable than Dean’s – wrapping their arms around each other, melding together until there’s no space between them.

He thinks about aborted ‘I love you’s and the stupid look on Sam’s face like he knows something about them that they don’t. He can’t stand any of it.

For a while, he thinks that if he just keeps up the cold front and the purposeful nonchalance that he’ll get Cas to leave for good. He’s gotten himself stuck in so many mental wells, quickly filling them up with rising water; all the reasons why Cas _should_ leave him. He thinks about the day Cas stops giving him second, and third, and fourth chances and just disappears without a trace. Dean would search for ‘Steve’s with dark hair and blue eyes but Cas would be smarter than to use the same alias twice. Because Dean taught him better than that.

They could forget each other forever, only Dean’s pretty sure he’d never forget, that he’d die thinking about Castiel whether that’s five years down the line or fifty. He’s not even sure he’d want to go on for that long without him.

So, their conversations remain stilted, barely existent, but when they’re in purgatory, Dean can feel himself reaching out for Cas like a security blanket. The place is dangerous for a guy like Cas and just because they haven’t made up doesn’t mean Dean is going to give up on keeping him safe.

The safety doesn’t last long and when Dean wakes up, groggy and disoriented, he is very aware of the fact that Cas is nowhere near him. Panic floods his body, and his heart rate ticks up exponentially, until his palms sweat. He thinks about the smell of fear and is sure he’s drenched in it.

Against his better judgment, he starts yelling out for Cas, alerting every nearby creature of his existence, but not really caring if it means Cas is gone forever. He can’t even pretend to be a little mad at Cas anymore because what he wants more than anything is for them to both make it out of there alive.

So, he prays; he gets down on his knees and everything because he thinks that’ll somehow be more effective, and then he starts crying. He tries his best to stop it, and it’s only a few stray tears, but the dam collapses, and he apologizes, finding the words that were impossible to say on earth.

He feels pathetic, looking around as if his stupid prayer will have summoned Cas directly to him, and then he really starts to panic. He looks at their timer and how it continues to tick down despite him still not having Cas and decides to move. It would be impossible to search all of purgatory, but staying in one spot, waiting for Cas to show up, makes him feel hopeless.

So when they finally find each other, and Cas  _ also  _ has the leviathan blossom – “a little smooshed” – it takes everything in Dean to not kiss him, because getting through the portal is the priority, and Cas deserves better than that. But when they get back to earth, if they survive their encounter with Chuck, Dean decides all cards are on the table.

Nothing goes according to plan, because when does it ever, but at least all of them are safe and mostly sound. After making sure that Sam is in his bed, sleeping off a month’s worth of days wrapped up in one, Dean tiptoes down the hallway.

He’s not sure why he does it – this is their place, after all, their home. But he can’t help but regard Cas like a skittish animal, and he would do anything to keep him from fleeing.

When Dean sees him sitting on his bed, right at the edge like he’s ready to run at the drop of a hat, he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Cas hears him, Dean can tell, but he doesn’t look his way, just waits for Dean to show himself in.

So, he does, closing the door behind him, and sitting right next to Cas, personal space be damned. Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He goes to try again, but luckily for him, Cas speaks up.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, the same way he always has, only a lot more weary and tired sounding. Dean hates thinking that has anything to do with him.

“…Hi,” Dean manages, and he’s back to feeling pathetic because that’s all he can say. For the whirlwind of words and feelings that had swept him up completely when they were in purgatory, his mind is a miraculously blank slate right now. He moves closer, despite not thinking that was possible.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks. Dean laughs a little. It’s a loaded question – it’s always a loaded question – but he finds it just a little funny that Cas is asking  _ him  _ that.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Been better, but pretty good. Are you okay?” Cas smiles, a tiny little upturn of his lips.

“Similar response. I’m glad we’re all safe,” Cas says, looking down at his hands, at the dirt and blood still nestled in his fingernails. Dean’s probably look the same.

“Me too. I-” and the floodgates open again, only this time they’re in the real world and Dean feels his throat close up as he tries to hold back tears once again.

“I’m sorry.” It ends on a choke. Cas looks at him concerned, placing a hand on Dean’s back as if trying to comfort him, but clearly unfamiliar with the motion. It makes Dean laugh and cry at the same time and he’s very close to sounding hysterical.

“You already apologized. I told you I heard-”

“I know, I know, it’s just- I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

“Dean-”

“How much you’ve always meant to me, even if I’ve never said it because I’m a stubborn asshole.”

“Well, I won’t disagree with that.” Cas says it with a smirk, snarky like he’s trying to cheer Dean up which he doesn’t deserve at all. It makes his chest feel warm, and suddenly it all becomes terrifyingly easy.

“I love you.”

If Dean didn’t know Cas as well as he did, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes widened marginally. Dean gets ready to backtrack, to add ‘like a brother’ as a qualifier, but then Cas takes Dean’s hand in both of his and squeezes. All of the tension Dean’s kept in his shoulders and chest washes away and Dean finally allows himself to feel  _ exhausted _ but comfortable.

“You must be very tired,” Cas says, not dismissing Dean’s words, but seeing him and looking for any way to take care of him, the Cas always has, even when Dean’s been too stupid to realize it. All he can do is nod.

Wordlessly, Cas turns out the light, both of them moving further onto the bed, kicking off their shoes but too lazy to change out of their blood and dust covered clothes. They’d have to do laundry tomorrow. Dean’s never been more excited at the notion of doing something so mundane.

They lie down, facing each other and breathing in and out together, finally on the same page. For the millionth time today, Dean is relieved.

“I love you,” he says again, because now he can, and maybe he always could, but now it feels right. Earned. So he says it again and again, until he begins trailing off, the words no longer sounding like words, but still making him feel warm. Cas smiles, trailing his fingers up and down Dean’s back.

“I love you, too.”

They talk about it in the morning.


End file.
